Confessions of an Anthropologist
by Dispatch22705
Summary: A collection of one-shots, all in 1st Person POV-Brennan's POV. Sort of an experiment for my own writing skills. Most will be rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello!**

**I've been wanting to try my hand at some 1st person POV Brennan, and this is the result. This will be a collection of non-related one shots. Like all of my work, most will be M rated, but there is the possibility that a few one shots might not be smutty (like this one actually!). **

**I don't have a plan for this; it's more that I just want a spot where if I feel inspired, I can quickly post.**

**1st Person POV is hard for me, because it always sort of comes across as clinical. You wouldn't think it would, as in theory, it should be even MORE personal. But, I can't quite figure it out sometimes. And 1st person _BRENNAN_ POV can be even MORE clinical ( in my opinion). She's just so observant, it's hard to get out of her head when I'm in her head.**

**LOL, that doesn't make sense, but it does to me.**

**The point is…I should stop talking about it and just get to this one shot.**

**As for the title, I feel like someone else might have used it before, but I couldn't find it. If this title already exists, let me know, and I can change it. **

**-b&b-**

He's angry. Really angry.

And I love it.

The harder his body gets with tension, the more I can feel my own softening in expectation.

I want him; I always want him, but when he's like this, I really,_ desperately _want him. I want to feel his hard body against mine. I want him stripped of his perfect suit and I want him over me. Inside of me.

_I want him._

He's moving closer, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and narrowed, his fists clenched.

An entire pillar of strength and controlled fury, so close to me. I can see his mouth moving, but an unfortunate side effect of his anger is that I can't hear a word he says. My other senses are heightened; I can clearly see him, I can practically taste the way his lips will feel against mine. When he's close like this, his aftershave seems stronger, and I just want to touch him. I want to be touched by him.

But I can hardly hear him. I know I should listen; I want to hear what he says, but it's as if I have cotton in my ears and every word is muffled.

Angry, sexy words from his firm lips, and he's moving even closer.

He's the only one I want like this. He's the only one I want to lose control for me; he's the only one I could ever consider losing control for. Any other man, I'm not interested in..._him_. But with Booth, I want everything. Restraint, control, rationality, empiricism. Each person should strive for those things. But I want Booth to lose them. I want him to lose them with me, for me...I want him to lose it inside of me.

It's unfair; it's _unfair_ how much his anger turns me on.

And it know it's unfair because I _also_ know how much he hates being angry. I know how much he hates losing his control. I wish it didn't make me wet. I wish it didn't make me instantly desperate for him to use his large hands to rip my shirt open. I wish it didn't make me want to do the same to him.

I know he's not mad at me; he's mad about something to do with the man he just interrogated. When he's mad at me, he can hardly look at me. That's one benefit, I suppose.

And then it happens.

Through his haze, his eyes flash, just once. And I can see…I can SEE that he knows what's happening inside of me. I know it's not appropriate in the interrogation room, but I want him. I want him naked. And he knows it.

"Booth," escapes my lips.

And when his hands press against the wall just beside my hips, I can see confusion warring with desire in his eyes.

He's so close, still so tense, and I can't help but shiver. He blinks and steps back, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

When he says, "Let's just get to work," I know I'm not going to have him. Not today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello!**

**So, I'm *sorry* to say that this one shot also is smut-free, haha, but I promise that is just a coincidence. I do have a nice long smutty one shot for this series almost completed, but this short thought/drabble was completed first, so I wanted to post it.**

****

Thanks for all of the kind words regarding this 1st person POV experiment of sorts. I think the biggest challenge for me, besides the clinical tone I mentioned, is the verb tense-usage. So, feel free to offer concrit on that, if you're so inclined. And as always, let me know what you think in general.

~b&b~

Regrets are intangibles, and yet, I am acutely aware they exist. Like with most intangibles, I find their existence highly frustrating. Rationally speaking, I know that I shouldn't feel regret; I should merely use all experiences as knowledge intake before weighing all results in as detached a manner as possible.

But in my experience, I've learned it doesn't work that way. Perhaps that is what is most frustrating. I've learned as much as possible on the subject, only to learn that regret can come when least expected.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to know something without having learned it. To just..._know it_, as Booth might say. However, this is highly unlikely. For me, learning and experiencing is always the way to knowledge. Information received, hypothesis created, experiment performed, results collected, analysis produced, new information received, new hypothesis created, and so on...

It's a cycle that works in my job and in my life. In my job, I rarely find regret in the scientific process; there, knowledge is processed as information without emotion or judgment statements, and I wish I could transfer that to my life outside of work. I'd much rather prefer to be able to analyze the results of my personal life experiences as clinically as possible, and yet, I find I cannot do so at all times. But when that happens, I still try.

In my work, intangibles are often able to be proven with data and facts. Outside of work, there are also objects that represent what I've learned.

For example, within the past year, I've given Booth two gifts. One, a phone, indirectly. The second gift was the use of a Thompson submachine gun from the Jeffersonian. Both gifts created the same result in Booth-pleasure.

Yet, I find I regret the pleasure he received from the phone in a way I hadn't anticipated. Likewise, my awareness of that regret intensified after experiencing his pleasure from the gun.

When I analyze my responses, I come to new information about myself as well as a new hypothesis.

To avoid the sting of regret, I'll be giving my gifts directly from now on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, it's me again...trying my hand at some 1st person POV for Brennan. I've really appreciated the feedback you have provided for me in this series of unrelated one-shots. This one follows the events of _Hole in the Heart_ and it also is the first one shot of this series to earn the M rating. I had previously alluded to the fact that I was working on an M rated one shot for this series, but because of the change in canon, that one is getting tweaked, and this one sort of blossomed when I wasn't expecting it to.**

**-b&b-**

There's a tenacity that comes when you feel like you're standing at the edge of life and death. If you haven't heard of that metaphor before, it usually refers to standing at the edge of a cavernous divide, such as the Grand Canyon. Normally I despise metaphors, as they are often more hyperbolic than clichéd (then again, I also normally despise clichés), but this one, perhaps because I have both literally stood at the edge of the Grand Canyon and also faced life and death situations,…it makes sense.

Infinity stretches both ways, but the human lifespan isn't always long enough to be able to experience another chance at things. Looking back, I realize I've had many chances, many opportunities. However, the more I learn, the more I know that it's futile to make judgments on past actions. The present and the future are what to consider. And consider carefully.

Like I said, I've experienced 'the edge of life and death' in very real, non-clichéd ways, and I recognize the feeling. The sharp pain in the chest, the sensate focus of memories, the fear co-mingled with desire…the despair mixed with hope. There have been several times in which I've found myself in such a situation, predicted the subsequent feelings, and was therefore able to handle and process them. So with that knowledge, it came as a shock when I felt the grip of desperation as I walked beside Booth back into the Jeffersonian.

I recognized that it wasn't a life or death situation, but even the knowledge didn't ease any of my immediate anxiety. Once I let go of Booth's arm, I wasn't sure what would happen after that. I wasn't sure what he would say or do. It felt as if my continuing to touch him would mean I was in control of what would happen next. And the reality that I didn't know what would happen next was as intense as jumping out of an airplane. I'm not exaggerating here, you understand. I've experienced that—the unknown. But also the excitement. My arm was still wrapped around his, my team was still singing, and I could practically feel him deliberately not singing. I understood why—seeing someone die and hearing about it later, no matter if you know the person or not, are two completely different things. Booth wasn't the type to sing, but more than that, I sensed he just couldn't physically do it. In the way a person can hardly breathe while suffering from bronchitis, some weight around his heart was preventing him from fully relaxing. Another metaphor, of course, but the point is that just as he was unable to sing, I was unable to quite let go of his arm. It wasn't so far outside of our strict bounds to cause suspicion among our friends, and they all smiled to one another and gave small waves as they parted ways.

I watched. And I held on to Booth's arm.

I sensed the moment right before he was about to ask if I was okay. It's not intuition…it's just knowing him so well. Of course he'd wait until we were alone. Of course he'd want to know for himself. That's his way. But before he could ask, my lips parted. I was surprised by my words, but his catch of inhaled breath proved I'd really surprised him.

"You're staying at my apartment tonight."

**-b&b-**

There's an adrenaline that comes when you've escaped a life and death situation. It manifests in the way you can't quite keep a smile from your face, despite earlier trauma. It's found in the way your mind races with thoughts and possibilities, and each one feels like a gift—something given back, even though technically it was never taken away. But after driving home and walking up to my apartment, I couldn't quite get myself to move from the front door. My palms were flat against it, my heart racing, my teeth sinking into my lips to prevent them from smiling too wide.

In the back of my mind, a thought niggled. _Booth might not come over_. He might take my unintentional repetition of his words and ignore them, as I'd been unable to do. For an instant, I felt the same tension, the same anxiety that threatened to creep in—the same fear I'd felt at various levels for several years, though I'd only recently admitted them to myself. A sharp knock at my door interrupted my thoughts, and I whirled around and opened the door. And there he was.

Booth entered my apartment and looked me over. I could practically imagine the thoughts going through his mind. He appeared confident, but I noticed the way his thumb twitched before he shoved his hand into his pocket. He'd left his trench coat in the SUV, and I was still wearing mine. His brow furrowed, and he licked his bottom lip before speaking, a half cocked smile on his face.

"What's the matter, Bones? Are you scared or something?"

I could tell he didn't think I was, and when I said, "Yes," he grew intensely serious, moving forward to stand in front of me.

He gripped my shoulders in his hands but squeezed gently. "Bones, why?" he nearly whispered. "Broadsky…he's put away. There's nothing he-" his words trailed off as I stepped back and took his hands away from my shoulders. I didn't release his fingers, but just held them in mine, all four hands suspended between us like a vague memory I have of a children's game pretending to be a bridge.

As far as I can remember, I've never stood with Booth like this, and yet, there was something centripetal about the way I felt the strength in his fingers running through my arms to my body and back down to our shared grasps. If he felt the same force, I wasn't sure. But I did know that he didn't pull away. And I knew I needed to tell him the truth. "I am afraid, Booth," I began, and when my voice cracked, his fingers tightened. He stepped forward, until his toes nearly touched mine. "I have fear," I told his chest, and then I couldn't resist touching him. I lifted one hand, released his fingers and spread my own against the crisp white of his dress shirt. "I feel fear when I consider the possibility that we won't…ever..."

**-b&b-**

There's a frustration that comes when you have something to say, but there are no words to say it. With Booth, it's been good and bad. It's good in that he almost always knows what I'm trying to say without actually having to say it. But it's bad because if there's anyone I really DO want to say the right words to, it's him. He had one hand free and it was gripping the back of my bicep. "You don't have to say anything, Bones," his voice was low, and I heard it, even through my thoughts.

"But I want to," I breathed in frustration. "I want to be able to tell you that I'm afraid that we'll never sleep together again. I want to tell you that I feel fear at the idea of falling backward from you. I want to be able to tell you that I want to feel you. Skin to skin, Booth. I want to be able to tell you-" my words choked on a breath as I realized I was in fact telling him what I wanted to say. His eyes were steady, staring into mine. In the back of my mind I sensed my other hand coming free from his as I brought it up to his shoulder. "Is there anything you want to say?" I asked, the words soft.

He searched my face, and his lips parted several times, as if the words were right there…so ready to be spoken, but with no volume behind them. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and yanked me to him, staring down at me with silent passion. But he didn't kiss me. He knew we couldn't just pass this moment over with physicality. "I want to tell you that you're my life," he whispered, and then his jaw jutted forward as if he resented the admission.

My fingers traced his chin, and it settled back. He tilted his head toward mine, and I did mine toward his. When our lips touched, my center shifted. Immediately, my arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands moved forward to clasp my waist. I felt his fingers on my belt then felt him tug at my elbows, lowering my arms from his body so he could shove my coat down my shoulders. I stepped back and shrugged it off.

**-b&b-**

There's a hollow feeling that comes when fears are released, and it must be filled with something. It can be filled with more fears, or it can be filled with hope, with answers, with assurance. For me, it's not so much that I want to be filled with Booth, though I certainly do. But as we regarded each other for another fraction of a second before we came back together, lips, arms, bodies, hearts sealed as closely as possible, I realized that the release of my fears of being without Booth could only be assuaged by me affirming to him that I'd never leave him. His arms were around me again, and I whispered promises against the bare skin of his chest as his clothes and mine were dropped, unneeded by both where we were going and who we were becoming.

All I needed…all I _wanted_ in that moment were sheets beneath me and Booth above me. I've parted my legs for men before, but this time, it was for Booth. I've run my hands along strong back muscles before, but this time, they were Booth's. I've heard my name whispered in my ear before, but this time, it was with Booth's voice, and it was his name for me. Mine. His. _Ours._

"Booth," I murmured, laying kisses against one of his shoulders. I wanted an orgasm with him, but felt content just being in his arms, as if I'd already reached the pinnacle to be found. But I also wanted to feel him lose himself inside of me. I wanted to know how he looked, sounded…_tasted_, when he was on the edge of satisfaction. He sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, and I gasped as my fingers tangled in his hair. It was perfect as always, but now it was a new perfect. Not too short, not too long…the perfect length for a lover as I held on and he kissed his way down my body.

"Bones," he spoke for the first time since covering me in my bed, his voice low and safe at the same time, and as he slipped one finger inside of me, I arched up, gasping at the delicious sensation. One finger turned into two, and then two fingers were joined by a thumb on my sensitive clit.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh," I chanted over and over, my skin electric from head to toe. I loved Booth's touch, but I wanted_ him_. Clasping his wrist in my fingers, I stilled his movements and choked back a groan at the way his fingers remained pinned inside of me. Slowly, I removed his hand and placed my own hands on his shoulders. "Please…please," I begged, pulling on his arms. He understood and moved back up the bed, covering me completely. He rested his weight on his hands and knees, and from my position beneath him, I was able to touch him. His perfectly curved shoulders, his impressive biceps, his smooth forearms, his inked wrists. His trim waist, his tense abdominals, his straight ribs, his wide chest, his stubbled chin, his sensual lips… I leaned up on my elbows and pressed my lips against his, feeling the chapped warmth there. His tongue swept against my mouth and I fell back against my pillow, welcoming his own collapse against me. I felt his firm erection nestled between my thighs, and I shifted, laying kisses all along his jaw and rocking my hips against his in invitation. He understood again, slipping back enough so the head of his cock nudged up just inside my opening.

"More," I demanded, hearing the breathy desperation in my voice.

"Bones, I-" he reared back, his neck taut and his chest reddening as he slid inside of me. His eyes scrunched shut and mine widened at the long thick length of Booth embedded in my body. Inside me. _Booth. Me._ I inhaled through my nose, and when I exhaled, he sank in another inch, the movement causing a flutter in my stomach. When he completely withdrew and then thrust inside all the way in, I moaned. "Booth…again. Again," I wrapped my legs around his thighs, stretching forward and back with him as he moved in and out. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Yeah," his arms were corded with straining muscles as he once again held himself up for the best leverage and control. I lifted one hand to cup his face, and he leaned toward it, kissing the heel of my hand. The tenderness brought pricks of moisture to the backs of my eyes, and I blinked, looking away once before pulling him down for a soft kiss. The feel of his lips on mine, combined with the firm nudge of the head of his cock at the end of my walls set me off. My tongue fluttered between his lips as my walls flexed around his penis.

I came under him as he laid over me. My stomach gave out as his pressed against it. My orgasm faded as his began. I felt him tighten and jerk, almost as if in fear. And then he sank further against me, his body weight shaping mine deeper into the form of my mattress. I felt pressure beneath me, and his release within me, steady rhythmic pulses of perfect relief. Afterward, he didn't move except to smooth his hands on my inner thighs and murmur gratitudes in my ear. His breath and nose nuzzled against my sensitive skin there, and I shivered, wrapping my arms around him to stay grounded while still aware of him on me.

**-b&b-**

There's a moment right after orgasm that's even more satisfying, but also just as fleeting. Deep relaxation, the inhalation of the breath that becomes the first exhale of something new.

It's chemically addictive and when shared, it's the bond between two people that makes it hard to forget the connection. I've resisted it in the past, but with Booth, I embrace it, symbolized by the way I embraced his body. And more than that, I allowed him to embrace me. To roll under me and hold me against him. To tuck one of his legs between mine as if he belongs there and has nowhere else he wants to be. To fall asleep in my arms knowing..._knowing_ that when he wakes up, I'll be there. And to allow me to fall asleep in his arms, knowing that when I wake, he'll be there.

**-b&b-**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, hey! This one is kind of a hard M, though in actuality it probably isn't. There is hard language, but mostly it's just that 1st person POV seems to make everything that much more…voyeuristic? Not sure if that's the right word, and I promise, this isn't even that kinky or anything. It's just sex. But it's B&B sex, so…well…on with the show!**

**-b&b-**

Sex with Booth is just as good as I'd always imagined it. It's rare that reality lives up to expectations, but the truth is that I had a lot of expectations, and I've never not been satisfied.

When he walked into the bedroom with a bare chest and a fresh shave, I noticed. I would have noticed if he'd been fully dressed, and I would have noticed if he'd been completely naked. It's just that when Booth is fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped around his neck and his hair pointing every which way after a frantic drying…I _notice_.

"Ah," he chuckled, sliding under the sheet. Somehow it had loosened from the end of the bed and his striped socked feet peeked from below the off white cotton. He ignored that and turned to his side, resting his weight on one arm, elbow to armpit, his chin in his palm. "So you're going to be one of _those_ girlfriends," he murmured and his other hand cupped my leg, right around my knee.

We didn't have sex every night, so it was possible we'd just talk and his hand would stay on my leg or would end up lazily cupping my breast as he spooned up behind me and slept. Either way, I closed my laptop and moved it to the bedroom floor and set my water bottle on my nightstand. "Excuse me?" I asked before sliding lower on the bed until I could lie flat on my back and meet his eyes.

He grinned. "You know…always wearing her man's clothes." His hand skimmed up my thigh, and I knew we _were_ going to have sex that night.

"I don't _always_ wear your clothes," I countered, feeling the way his fingers were swirling circles against my body. My legs parted slightly and I know he noticed.

"Hmmm," he pretended to consider as the very tips of his fingers pulled at the waistband of my panties. Soon the silky boyshorts were bands around my upper thighs and his hand was cupping my mound, the cup of his palm against my bare slit. "There was the first night you seduced me," he murmured.

"I did _not_ seduce you," I argued, but arched into his touch. He loved to tease me about that night, though I knew he understood. "You were the one who gave me that sweatshirt in the first place," I practically panted, lifting up again and again.

He just grunted out a reply and moved closer. "There was my FBI t-shirt on Thursday night," his words were low and subdued against the skin of my throat as his hand began a rotation between my legs. He couldn't move much because I couldn't part my legs very far due to the restrictions of my underwear. It was inhibiting and sexy at the same time. "My dress shirt on _Friday _night…" he nipped at my lips until I opened my mouth for his kiss. Oh yes…Friday. We'd barely made it inside my apartment before he'd yanked me to him, altogether willing to strip with me right in the middle of my living room. Afterward, we'd stumbled to bed and I'd grabbed his shirt to feel warmer and aroused by his natural scent on that pure white cotton. I remember how it had contrasted against my skin and our sheets.

"And," Booth kissed his way down my neck. He rolled on top of me, straddling me and cupping my breast in his hand. "_Now_…" each word preceded a scrape of his teeth. "You're wearing my favorite Phillies jersey." My nipple pebbled just before he sucked it into his mouth through the fabric. I groaned and pressed my shoulders to the mattress for leverage, hoping he'd suck me harder.

He did.

"Well," I tried to counter, sliding my hands under his boxers to clench his perfect ass. "I'd be more than happy to allow you to wear my clothes…but you'd just look silly." With one of his thumbs wedging its way against my clit and his other thumb against the underside of my now wet nipple, I was about ready to come. But I still heard his soft chuckle, and my eyes opened. Staring up at him, I saw that he was smiling. I liked that. Booth thinks I'm funny, even if he doesn't always admit it.

"Do _I_ look…silly?" I murmured, managing to sound coy despite my compromising position. His eyes hooded immediately and he grunted, surprising me by yanking my panties completely from my legs and grabbing my waist. He flipped me until he was on his back and I was straddling him.

"No," he spit out the word, fisting his shirt with both hands at my waist and shoving it upward. I lifted my arms and shook out my hair when he tossed the jersey to the floor. My breasts were still hard with arousal, my nipples peaked and pointing straight toward the headboard at this angle. Booth grunted again and ran a hand down my back as he stared at my bare chest. "Not even close. Fuck, Bones, you're hot."

His penis nudged between my thighs, and I moved back far enough to pull his boxers down to his thighs before rising up again and sinking down on his _oh, so incredibly hard_ length. His hands fell to my hips and I tangled my fingers in my hair, displaying everything for him as he worked me up and down his cock. It felt incredible, as he always does, but there was something even more erotic in watching him watch me. My breasts bounced with every thrust and his lips parted. It made me wonder if he'd fantasized about me like this…if he'd ever dared.

I knew a little something about that, about how it was so easy to imagine and so hard to forget the empty feeling afterward. But now…now wasn't empty. Now, I was full. Full and being filled by Booth. My hands fell to his shoulders and then I fell forward, plastering my body to his. "Oh, Booth!" I gasped, grinding down on him and writhing in pleasure at how his hard body felt against mine.

"Bones, baby," he groaned, his arms banding around my waist as he pistoned into me from below. "Come, come…_come_" he whispered in my ear, and I did, clenching so tightly around him that he shouted. He rolled us again until I was flat on my back with my legs spread open. He pumped all the way into me once, twice, three times before his entire body tensed and he came, high and hard against the end of my walls.

Fuck _good_.

Booth is _fantastic_ in bed. Just as I always imagined.

**-b&b-**


End file.
